The Hot One(62)

With Delaney, I didn’t study, but I thought I’d win the deal anyway. I flash back to Clay’s words when I landed the Jay Benator deal. He told me that the deal wasn’t as crazy as I thought. “You knew your stuff,” he’d told me. “You took the time to understand what Craig needed, and then you delivered so you could get your client’s goals met. That’s why you’re one helluva daring attorney.”

After I drop off Carly with her dad that afternoon, I head uptown and go for a walk in my neighborhood, running through scenarios—how to apologize, how to prepare, how to explain what I really want from Delaney. I cycle through all our conversations in the last few weeks, reviewing every detail, weighing what matters most, and adding up the facts.

I stop at a café, grab a coffee, do a little research on my phone, then make a few calls. Just like I did when I showed up at her work ready to strip, I have all my details together. I won’t be Bungee Jump Tyler this time.

I'm just grabbing my phone to dial her number when I see a message from her that makes me sit up straight.





28





Delaney



* * *



My morning is mercifully short, so I do what any self-respecting woman would do in this situation.

Call for backup.

The soldiers are ready. Nicole and Penny wait outside Nirvana, and the second I leave, Nicole declares it’s time for a walk and talk.

We march toward one of our favorite lunch spots while I give them the full download. Nicole’s eyes approximate saucers and Penny’s morph into moons. Great. I’ve officially shocked my best friends. That’s how crazy my love life is.

We stop at the corner of the street, waiting for a light. “Everything was going so well,” I say, half-frustrated, half-sad. “It was perfect. It was bliss. It was everything I imagined a second chance would be.” I look at Nicole, my voice wavering with emotion as I recall how lovely the last week had been. “You said give it a week, and I did, and we had a great time, and we communicated, and we talked about things. I was open with him, and he was sweet and caring with me. And then boom.” I slap my palms together, making a loud clap. “A proposal. Out of the blue.”

Penny meets Nicole’s eyes, and they nod in unison.

“Uh oh. You two are up to something,” I say as the light changes and we cross.

Nicole speaks first. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but . . .” She takes a deep breath then exhales. “But I think he only did it because he loves you.” I’m about to respond, but she raises a hand. “Hear me out. I’m not saying you should get engaged after one effing week. But I am saying, in his own weird, warped, twisted way, the man is trying to show you he’s changed.”

“By leapfrogging into an engagement?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Men don’t always make sense,” Penny offers, and I mutter true because there’s so much wisdom in those words. “Sometimes, they take two steps forward and one step back. Or they take twenty steps forward when they should take two.”

Nicole jumps back in. “The point is, he might have missed on the timing of this one. He might not be showcasing change in the best way possible. But, at the heart of all this, I think he is changing.”

I shoot her a pointed look. “I thought people don’t change.”

Nicole shrugs and smiles. “Maybe they do for someone as amazing as you.”

Penny says, “Go see him. Try to find a middle ground.”

“Something in between twenty steps and two steps?” I ask.

“Exactly,” Nicole says.

I look at my watch. “Mind if I skip lunch? I should try to track him down.”

They both shoo me away, but as I walk, I see a message that stops me in my tracks.



When I was younger, my dad used to take me to the park. Anytime I wanted to go, it seemed. A monkey, he’d called me, because I climbed everything. I swung across the bars like they were my personal jungle. I clambered up the slide faster than anyone. Those crazy high crisscross rope structures? They were my stomping grounds.

And my dad always waited for me at the bottom, ready to encourage me to do it all over again.

Then once I wore myself out, he took my hand in his, and we walked home. Together.

He was, by all accounts, a good dad.

As I find myself wandering through Central Park, staring at the email from Joe Thomas, I flash back to those memories, rather than the ones of my parents arguing. I stop at a playground, watching the kids chasing each other, swinging with nannies, scampering with mothers and fathers. And I remember what this felt like when I was one of those little kids.

Wrapping my hands around the edge of the fence, I wait for the storm to lash me.

For the hurt to swoop down like a bat from a darkened sky.

Surely, this is when the memories will wound me the most—as I regard the tableau of what I lost. But as I run my thumb over the screen of my phone, staring at the number in Canada, and the Gmail address, too, I brace myself for the hurt to crash into me.

For the wave to tug me under.

Only, as I look up from the phone to stare at a little blond girl swinging high, kicking her feet happily, all I do is smile.

And the truth hits me.

Beautifully.

Peacefully.